


got no place to call my home

by rueflower



Series: the medley universe [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Learning Disabilities, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Running Away, Superfamily, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, for now, they just dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 12:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20874518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueflower/pseuds/rueflower
Summary: Tony was a literal prodigy, and Peter was… doing his best, which would still never compare.Peter knew he was spiraling; his breaths were short, his chest tight.(aka the one where Peter has a hard time living up to the Stark family name)





	got no place to call my home

Peter felt like static.

Absurdly, he was aware of the weight of the pencil in his hand, the printer paper scattered across his desk, and the tag of his cotton shirt pressed against his neck. He could hear the second hand on the analog clock, pivoting around and around and around. Every once in a while, the marker would stutter, a sign that the battery was dying. It would need to be replaced soon.

Peter’s chemistry teacher cleared her throat from the front of the room, jerking him back to reality.

“There are 15 minutes left for your exam.” Mrs. McMillan called from her desk. “If you haven’t started problem 7 yet, you might want to start praying.”

Peter ran his hand through his hair, nervous. He flipped through the thick midterm packet, and then scanned the equation sheet as if the answers would suddenly appear. He had spent the first hour trying to piece together answers for the “easy” problems. He turned the page. One glance at problem seven sent his mind reeling. The numbers mashed together, and Peter had no clue where to start.

The static in his head got worse.

He flipped through the packet again, only to realize that he made a calculation error in the beginning of problem three. The error had cascaded through all four parts of the program, resulting in a colossal, hilariously wrong final answer. Peter hadn’t known it possible to feel so frustrated and yet so detached at the same time. His chest felt like a void, his body tense, and shoulders bunched.

Across the classroom, he saw Flash close his packet, haul his backpack to his shoulder, and turn in the exam. Crossing to the exit, the two made eye contact. Flash shot him finger guns and a cocky look. Peter slumped further down in his seat. He forced his eyes from the clock back to the exam. Five minutes.

Chemistry was supposed to be Peter’s best subject, too. His dad was always complaining about how he had lost his son to the biochem side of STEM, but Peter knew it was all in good fun. Except now he was going to fail his midterm, and he wasn’t good at physics or engineering anyways, and what type of son of Tony Stark wasn’t good at STEM.

“Time’s up! Pencils down, and bring your exams to the front please.”

Peter blinked.

Half of his exam was blank. The other half, illegible. He tried to hold it together long enough to pack his supplies and turn in the exam with a thin smile. Peter was, officially, going to fail. There was no way he could earn higher than a 60%, at best, and that was unacceptable.

Peter thought he heard his teacher wish him a happy winter break. He nodded in response.

The static hadn’t stopped.

He shrugged on his heavy jacket and made his way out to the brisk December air, headed home. It was officially the start of break, and he should have been looking forward to spending time with his friends and family. Except now, all he could focus on was admitting to Tony that his kid, his supposed prodigal son, would face academic probation going into the new year.

Peter tried to catch the first vocal sob in his hand.

He glanced down the street to see Happy's car parked discreetly around the corner. It had begun to snow. A soft white layer covered the roof of the car, softening the black exterior. He knew that his Dad would be at the compound already, waiting for Peter to officially start celebrating the holidays. But with his shoulders shaking and tears threatening to spill, the last thing Peter wanted was a two hour trip sat in suffocating silence.

So Peter turned, popped his hood over his head, and started towards the tower. He ducked around his classmates, doing his best to hide the hot tear tracks running down his face. He needed to be alone, for at least a minute.

After a few blocks, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Peter tried to ignore it. It buzzed again. He switched it to silent and kept walking.

Peter eventually made it to the tower, albeit much slower than he expected. The wind had picked up, violently whistling between buildings and through alleys. No matter which way Peter looked, it always seemed to blow directly in his face. Although he kept his fingers buried deep in his pockets, they were icy.

He fumbled with the door to the lobby, trying to pry it open with his elbow. It was crowded inside. Plenty of people were standing in line at the coffee shop, or seated along the concourse, watching the snow. The ambient noise was familiar, but Peter still wished he didn’t have to walk through a thousand people to get home. He could feel people staring, and it made his skin crawl and cheeks heat. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.

They all knew he was a failure.

Picking up the pace, Peter hurried to the private elevator tucked away from the general public. The doors opened on his approach, and he stumbled in and slumped against the back railing, head buzzing. He focused on the quiet feedback from the speakers as JARVIS closed the doors, and the elevator began to ascend. Peter shivered.

JARVIS, always aware, turned up the temperature. Curled up in the corner of an elevator, Peter tried to calm down. He thought about his math teacher, who would soapbox on how exams meant nothing compared to the expanse of the universe. One bad exam wouldn’t change the global outcome, or extinguish the sun. MIT wouldn’t come calling asking for an extended list of Peter’s failures.

Except his dad was one of the most successful inventors in history. A literal superhero, on a team of superheroes, dating a superhero. And yeah, being born into wealth had been a springboard for Tony’s success, except all of the Ironman technology and resulting genius couldn’t be attributed to anything other than hardwork and perseverance. Tony was a literal prodigy, and Peter was… doing his best, which would still never compare.

Peter knew he was spiraling; his breaths were short, his chest tight. He closed his eyes.

The doors slid open.

Hands grabbed at his backpack straps and hauled him upright. “Peter. Kid. Hey, are you okay? Are you hurt?” With one hand keeping him vertical, pressed against the elevator’s wall, the other brushed him down, checking for injuries. It brushed the hair cross Peter’s forehead, inconspicuously checking for any signs of illness before settling back on the vacant backpack strap.

Peter squinted, bleary and exhausted and not ready to face his firing squad.

By some luck, Clint stared back. Peter exhaled, relieved.

“M’fine Clint. You can let go.” Clint narrowed his eyes, but let go nonetheless.

“You better have a better excuse than “I’m fine,” because the calvary is on the way and they are not impressed by your temporary disappearing act.” Clint had the disappointed dad tone down pat. Peter tried to play dumb.

“What do you mean? I was walking home from school! I tried to get home as soon as I could! I didn’t even go anywhere, it was windy and I was, uh…” Peter looked Clint up and down, confused. “Are you on your way to a mission?” He was dressed in his tact vest, and though he wasn’t carrying his bow, he was otherwise fully fitted for a mission.

Clint laughed, but it felt empty. “Peter, you were the mission. Happy told Tony you were a no-show, and they collectively decided you had been kidnapped. C’mon kid, let’s go sit down for a minute. You’re still looking pretty cold.”

Peter didn’t know it was possible to feel worse than he had leaving the exam. His stomach was in turmoil, his mouth dry, and his head horribly empty. He let Clint take his backpack off and lead him to the nearby couch. Peter sank down, and stared at his hands, between his knees. Something soft collided with his side.

“Hey, seriously though, are you good? You’re really quiet, which is not your M.O.” Clint tossed yet another blanket at Peter, this time hitting him square on the shoulder. Peter swallowed, and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good, Clint. Sorry for making you worry.” Clint shrugged.

“We always worry, but we’re your family. It’s what we do. JARVIS, play episode IV.” Belatedly, Peter realized how tired he felt. Between the exam exhaustion and freezing weather, he couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to read the opening scroll.

“Get some rest, kid. Your dad will be here soon.” and Peter drifted away.

Peter woke, warm and with a headache, to an argument in the room over. He rolled over, trying not to audibly groan.

“You’re telling me it’s not acceptable to freak out over my kid going missing? I understand that you’re a literal birdbrain, but you have kids, you understand. Anything could’ve happened, and I can’t afford that. Not to him.”

“Tony you’re allowed to freak out. I’m just suggesting maybe don’t freak in front of Peter. He was really off. Way too quiet. There’s something else that’s bothering him.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to be a good dad, Barton.” Peter winced. His dad may not have liked business, but he was still a blistering lawyer.

“And I’m not trying to.” Clint shot back evenly. “Tony, I get it. You can vent, you can worry, I’m not denying you that right. You’re a damn good father, mostly because you care so much about him. Freak out to me, all you want, but just be level-headed in front of the kid.”

Peter could hear his dad breathe deep and sigh.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry for snapping Legolas.”

“Don’t worry about it. Shit happens, we get through it. Besides, I know you’re stressed, with Steve still away. I know I don’t like having Nat gone, either. Just let me help, yeah?”

All at once, Peter felt ill again. Amid his midterm studying and stress, he completely forgot about Steve and Nat’s two week mission abroad, top secret, radio silence, the works. Peter, studying for hours, had barely noticed. But if Peter knew anything about his father, Tony was not handling it well. Even worse, Peter hadn’t done anything to help.

He pulled the blanket over his head and buried his face further in the couch cushion. He stayed like that, until he felt the couch dip next to his head.

“I know you’re perpetually cold, but you can’t tell me you can breathe in there.” Peter groaned. The blanket was peeled back, and a hand began to sift through his hair.

“I’m glad you’re home safe, Pete. Though you got Happy real worried. He doesn’t take fondly to people going missing. He goes nuts anytime something mildly inconvenient happens. One time, the Audi got a flat tire while we were driving to D.C. for a hearing. He nearly lost his mind, he thought it was a setup.” Tony kept rambling, but Peter could feel his hand, trembling in his hair.

Peter curled closer. “I’m sorry Dad, I just needed air. I didn’t mean to worry you. I wasn’t thinking” Tony’s hand stilled.

“Yeah, you weren’t thinking. You know the drill, you’re not naive, Peter. I know you’re a brilliant kid, so just explain to me, why weren’t you thinking?” Peter choked.

“Don’t call me that.” Peter could feel his dad tense up.

“Sorry, what? Don’t call you what, Pete?”

“I’m not brilliant. I-I’m not.” Peter could feel his heartbeat in his mouth. The static in his head was screaming.

“Peter Benjamin Stark--”

“I’m failing chemistry. I’m probably failing English, too. My math class, I don’t understand a single concept we’ve covered in the past month. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, but nothing I do works. I’m not brilliant, I’m not smart. I’m sorry, dad. I want, so badly, to be like you, but I’m not a genius. I’m not.”

The living room was silent, for a long moment. Then, Peter felt himself getting manhandled upright for the second time that day. And then--

“...why are you hugging me?” Peter started to wiggle.” I just told you I was failing my classes, I don’t deserve this, I thought you’d be angry, or furious, or--”

“Peter, that’s something we can work on together. I’m not mad at you. You're still brilliant, and always will be to me. Earlier today, I thought you had been kidnapped. This though? This is so much better than the possibility of losing you.”

His dad was so sincere, and so warm, and so much more than Peter deserved.

“No, you don’t get it.” Peter pushed out of the hug. Tony arched an eyebrow, an amused expression on his face.

“Is that so, Petey? Care to explain?” It was clear that his dad wasn’t taking him seriously, and that just frustrated Peter further.

“You’re my dad. But you’re also a certified genius. You’re a superhero, you’re a legend. You push the limits of our generation’s tech every single day, for fun. Your face is literally in my school science textbook. So what does it say about me, your son, when I can’t solve the problems listed next to your bio. You’re expecting me to change the world, but how can I do that when I can’t pass high school chemistry, dad? How.”

Tony, to his merit, looked concerned. “Peter, kid, you don’t need to prove your worth to me with grades. That’s not what this is about. If it really bothers you, we’ll find you a great tutor to help, I’ll work with you on projects, we can sort out your academic anxieties.”

“I shouldn’t need a tutor when my last name’s Stark.” Tony frowned.

“Being a Stark has nothing to do with that. Those two are independent variables, kid.”

“At my age, you were in college already. And I just can’t live up to that standard.” Peter tried to choke down a sob. He glanced up at his dad, but it just made him feel worse. It was clear Tony was frustrated with Peter. The last thing he wanted to do was add more stress to his father’s day, yet here they were. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Peter beat him to the punch.

“I’m gonna go to my room. I need to think.” Peter fled from the couch.

“Peter, wait--” Tony pleaded, to an empty room.

Except Peter didn’t go to his room.

He thought about it, briefly, but all he could think about was the sadness in his dad’s eyes, the disappointment masked by kind words. Peter needed space, and he knew that JARVIS was monitoring his every move. So, in his infinite teenage wisdom, Peter turned towards the stairwell and walked out for the second time that day.

In the back of his mind, Peter realized he was being petty and immature. He knew his dad would be upset for leaving, and that he’d be in even more trouble than he knew what to do with. But he hurt his dad, and he was a disappointment, and he needed to think on how to make things right.

Peter finally made it to the bottom of the stairwell and stepped outside, his footsteps muffled by the snow. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he began to walk.

As expected, Tony lost his shit.

He had waited a whole thirty minutes to let his son get over his edgy teenage emotions, before he went knocking on Peter’s door.

“Hey, buddy, can I come in?” Tony frowned when there was no response.

“Peter? You sleeping, kid?” he turned the knob and pushed open the door. Scanned the room once. Pulled back the bed sheets, then checked under the bed, under the desk, in the closet, in the bathroom, under the sink, everywhere he could think to check. Tony tried to ignore the tremor in his hands.

“JARVIS?” his voice pitched high, giving away his anxiety, “Where’s my son? Where’s the kid, where is Peter?”

“It appears as though Master Peter left the tower 23 minutes ago.” _Oh, no._

“And where, dare I ask, did Peter go?”

“According to the GPS in his phone, Master Peter has not left the living room. I do not have a current location.” _Motherfucker._

Tony’s veins flooded with ice. “Call-- call Clint, J, and tell him-- tell him I lost the kid.”

Steve was, to put it simply, exhausted.

His body was bruised everywhere. He didn’t need to look in a mirror to confirm that; he could feel it every time he moved. That, and when he took his helmet off, Natasha had almost laughed outright. He all but collapsed into the co-pilot chair and stifled a groan.

“Long day at the office?” Nat quipped.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Steve shot back. The two sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the expanse of sky set before them. Steve sighed, and Natasha nodded.

“You miss him.”

“Obviously.”

Nat hummed. Steve nodded. Time passed.

Nat turned in her chair, gave Steve a once-over, and full on grinned at him. Steve did not like the look on her face one bit.

"Steven Rogers, you’re going to propose.” Steve’s face flushed immediately and, spluttering, he tried to recover from the emotional whiplash.

“I think I liked it better when we just stared at the sky. We were having a nice, friendly moment.” Natasha smirked.

“And now we’re having a different type of moment. As your self-appointed maid of honor, you’re going to tell me everything.” Despite his weariness, Steve smiled at his hands.

“What’s there to tell? You probably know it all.”

“I do, I just want to know what made you decide to propose.” Steve considered the question.

Steve considered how his stomach would flutter every time he woke up, Tony’s cheek smushed firmly into his shoulder, drooling. How the sun would filter through the curtains, lightening the tips of Tony’s hair, and Steve would trace patterns across his back until his eyes would squint up at Steve, happy and calm and so full of love. Without a doubt Steve knew that the two of them, together, was exactly where he was supposed to be.

“I just woke up one day and knew.”

Natasha nodded.

“Well I, for one, can’t wake to take a long hot bath as soon as we get back.” Steve had no choice but to agree. The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Steve went back to daydreaming.

A call from Clint broke through the silence.

“Nat? Steve? Thank fuck you guys are done and on your way back, how far out are you?”

“We’re close, what’s the situation” Natasha responded, no note of weariness in her voice. Not for the first time, Steve was impressed.

“We can’t find Peter. Tony thinks he ran away.” Nat and Steve shared a look.

“Clint, are you sure?” Steve asked, “Because that’s not like Peter at all. He wouldn’t leave, he’s a good kid. He’s probably in the lab and forgot to surface for food.” just like Tony, Steve left unspoken. Clint huffed, frustrated.

“Look, you can have that conversation with your near catatonic boyfriend--” Steve’s heart lurched painfully. “--but JARVIS says Peter left the building, no phone, no note, no nothing, and that was seven hours ago.” Steve closed his mouth and swallowed, hard.

“Sitrep, Barton.” Natasha’s hands were flying over the controls, her eyes never leaving the screen. Like a switch flipped, she was back in mission mode.

Hawkeye and Black Widow discussed details rapid-fire, but Steve couldn’t think clearly. Peter was Tony’s entire world, and he was gone, missing, in danger. On some plane, he heard Nat hang up with Barton. She thumped Steve, on the back of the head, hard.

“Focus Rogers. Life sucks but we need you to hold it together for this next mission, can you do that? “

“I was-- going to propose.”

Natasha’s eyes softened slightly.

“And you still will. We just have to find the kid first.”

They flew on.

Peter was so fucking cold.

He should have grabbed hand warmers, or a second jacket, or something. He didn’t even have his wallet or metrocard on him, so he had been walking for hours.

Peter could hear the ocean.

He thought about how nice it would be, to fall asleep to the ocean’s waves. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Calming. Refreshing.

Peter walked towards the sound of the ocean.

The Quinjet was flying low on entry approach over Lido Beach when Steve jackknifed forward in his chair.

“Nat, there. Land the jet, there, on the beach.” Steve pointed frantically. Natasha eyed him from the side, worried.

“Trust me,” Steve pleaded, “Please.”

The plane banked downwards.

Steve didn’t wait for the landing gear to contact the cold sand before he was out and running, sprinting towards a bundle of jacket and limbs nestled between the dunes and some bushes. He all but skidded to a stop and fell to his knees. Gently, he rolled the lump over.

_Peter._

Steve yanked the teen upright and pushed two fingers to the pulse point on his neck. He felt frozen solid. Steve tried to ignore the tear tracks crystalizing down Peter’s cheeks. He waited, barely breathing, as he tried to locate the pulse. And readjusted, and tried again. And again.

It was there. Thready, a staccato beat weak beneath his fingertips, but there nonetheless. Steve could have cried.

He quickly collected the shivering kid and held him to his chest. Carefully, Steve made his way back to the jet. Natasha was on the phone relaying the situation to Clint, no doubt. She launched into takeoff without so much as a second glance at the cabin. Everyone compartmentalized things differently. Nat would never talk about this to anyone, except maybe Clint, much much later.

Steve couldn’t afford to do that.

He had Peter stretched out on the couch in the cabin of the jet, head propped with a plush pillow. Steve didn’t have to take his temperature to tell that the kid had hypothermia at the very least. He began rifling through compartments, looking for more blankets.

“Under the table, Rogers. Though we’ll be at the tower in less than 10 minutes.” Natasha’s voice clipped through Steve’s panic. He nodded, then realized Nat wasn’t looking in his direction.

“Uh, yeah, thanks Nat. Appreciate it.” Steve began draping the blankets over the small, prone form. Not for the first time, Steve couldn’t wait to get to Tony. he just wished the circumstances were different.

“Tony, listen, Cho is here, Peter will be fine, Steve is with him, but if you don’t calm the fuck down I will hit you with a tranq and you will wake up in the med wing with your son, so help me god.” Clint wasn’t a patient man, so dealing with a catatonic Tony for nearly 11 hours hadn’t done wonders for his patience.

“Barton if you so much as block my line of sight to Peter the moment he gets off the ramp, I will blacklist you from all pizza delivery stores in all of New York. You’ll have to get pizza from Jersey, so I hope for your sake you make the right decision and stay the _fuck_ out of my way.” Indeed, Tony was on a warpath.

Clint wasn’t sure if he was relieved Peter hadn’t been kidnapped, or more concerned for the impending fallout.

He watched Tony perk up and, moments later, heard the sound of the jet in the distance. Clint fiddled absentmindedly at his hearing aids as he watched the jet descend. He could tell Natasha was in a rush, because the landing included none of the theatrics she used when she had an audience.

Clint glanced at Tony. The guy looked like a live wire.

Finally the landing gate opened and Steve emerged, carrying a bundle of blankets in his arms.

Tony rushed forwards.

He didn’t say anything as he collided into Steve and Peter, crushing the teen between the two in an impossible hug.

The kid was alright.

Once Steve handed Peter over to Tony and Dr. Cho, he took one of the longest showers of his life. He made sure to shampoo his hair, and even used a bit of Tony’s conditioner to make it softer. There were so many little luxuries Steve didn’t think twice about until he was 2 weeks deep in a mission and just as far away from a real shower or toilet.

He stood under the warm spray for a long while, simply enjoying the feeling of warmth. The mission had been cold, and Steve couldn’t get the feeling of Peter’s skin, somehow colder, underneath his fingers.

Steve toweled dry and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. He even splurged and found his pair of fuzzy socks. Making his way to the medbay, Steve stopped by the kitchen to grab a hot chocolate and a water. He hummed softly as he stirred the powder into the warmed milk, and then headed to visit Peter.

Steve knocked softly on the door frame of the room, doing his best to not startle either Stark. Tony had taken vigil next to Peter’s bed, but he looked worn down enough to deserve his own spot in the medbay. Steve gently pressed the hot chocolate into Tony’s hands. Wordlessly, he took a sip of his own water, and watched.

Eventually, Tony broke the silence.

“Y’know, he worships the ground you walk on.” Steve blinked, confused. “Though I’m pretty sure Iron Man is his number one, Captain America is a close second.” Steve smiled softly, then pressed a kiss to Tony’s head.

“That’s so weird, because Iron Man is my number one, too.” Steve watched Tony’s cheeks heat. It still amazed him, how a man so bold and open about his looks and life, would still blush at the dumb stuff Steve said.

“I missed you. Both of you, really. Life’s far too quiet without the dynamic duo.” _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_, Steve thought.

Tony threw him an exhausted smile. “Yeah, we always keep things interesting. You think you’re coming home to peace and quiet but instead get to deal with a missing persons case and my icicle son. I see how you could miss us.” _You have no idea. _

Steve brought over a chair, and sat his next to Tony. The two sat together in silence and watched the heart monitor mark out Peter’s life in promising intervals. Every odd number of beats, Steve would press a kiss to Tony’s shoulder.

The kid was going to be alright.

“Thank you, for bringing him back to me.” Steve grinned. Tony was never good with quiet spaces.

“I always will.”

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me: rueflower.tumblr.com
> 
> This is bits and pieces of several things I've been wanting to write for a while. This is also the first time I've somewhat successfully put together something longer than, like, 1500 words. Nothing is perfect and I didn't do a final read through but I have class in like 4 hours and need to sleep for at least a fraction of that, so, whatever.


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